


But What Is It For?

by Slutty_Merlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Major character death - Freeform, Night Terrors, Past Abuse, Rehabilitation, They both hurt, like a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-29 10:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slutty_Merlin/pseuds/Slutty_Merlin
Summary: He really did love her. But perhaps...he never stopped.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s nearly nine hundred years before he sees her again. And when he does, he’s hit with a sudden wave of vertigo, feels as if someone punched him in the gut. She looks the same as he saw her last. And she’s still breathtakingly beautiful.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not that she recognizes him. On one hand, it reminds him of…everything. Everything she’s done, and…everything he’s done to her. On the other, he doesn’t feel…so alone anymore.

“What are _you_ doing back?” she’s demanding. Her hand is around his neck. Not grasping, not squeezing, just staying there, a warning.

_If only._

“I never left.” he’s hoping he doesn’t sound as tired as he feels, but he was never a great liar.

“You mean…”

“Mm.”

She laughs at that. A bitter sounding thing.

“Why are you back?” he asks. The unspoken, _and why isn’t Arthur?_ Hangs in the air. She glowers at him.

“I wouldn’t know.” she hisses. “This isn’t your doing?”

“You really think I would?”

He would.

She gives him a strange look.

“No. I don’t suppose you would.”

They both know it’s a lie.

 

* * *

 

They continue to run into each other after that. Not even on purpose. They live in the same building, after all. He doesn’t ask how she came to have the credentials and the money she requires, but it’s easy enough to guess. But it’s more than that. They run into each other at the Tesco, at the deli. They sit at the bus stop, at opposite ends of the bench, pretending not to notice each other, that the sidewalk or their mobile phones are much more interesting than the ghosts of their past.

It would be bearable if the guilt didn’t come off each other in waves. If Merlin didn’t open his mouth, and glance over, only to stop short and stare at his feet again. It would be bearable if she wasn’t still as beautiful as ever, if she didn’t still haunt his dreams, that look of betrayal and disbelief he’d, unfortunately, come accustomed to.

But as it is.

 

* * *

 

They start chatting, eventually. It’s tense, and awkward. But it’s not as horrible as the never ending silence. They keep their tone light, even if their stomachs clench and their hearts pound in their chest and they hate each other but…pity each other, at the same time.

He invites her back to his flat, to watch a film he’d think she’d like.

He’s not sure if he’s surprised or not that she accepts. He settles on ambivalent.

Neither of them comment on how it’s a perfect way to be close to one another and still not say anything. Even as they make this a weekly thing, even as they inch closer together on the sofa during this Tim Burton film, or that installment of _Rocky_.

They don’t talk much. Which is fine by both of them.

 

It comes to a head about two months after they start their weekly…whatever that is. The feelings that they suppress, broil underneath, go ignored, because at least they’re not alone anymore. But it boils over one night, and Merlin isn’t sure how they got there, to shouting at each other, the accusations flying back and forth, daggers that pierce each other.

His flat is a mess. They’ve thrown things, swiped various items off of counter tops and tables, chairs are overturned. Merlin didn’t even know he had that kind of temper.

“You killed me!” Morgana is screeching.

“Morgana—!”

“Twice!”

“ _Morgana—!”_

“You poisoned me, you—,”

“ _I loved you!”_

The flat goes eerily still. They stare at each other, and it’s not until Merlin’s done panting, done shaking, that he realizes what he said.

“Merlin.” her voice is dangerously low. “Say you didn’t mean it.”

“Mogana…”

“Say it! Say that’s not true!”

“You know I can’t.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long while. She stares at him, her face blank. And then, she turns, and she walks out of his flat.

He doesn’t see her again after that.

 

* * *

 

It’s weeks, maybe even months later that they stand in the lift together, not meeting each other’s eyes when she says,

“I loved you too.”

And Merlin doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He falls back into old habits, after her confession in the lift."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a one-shot but the wonderful writer for this [ Morgause account](https://twitter.com/LadyFatesBow) convinced me to do another. I'm not actually sure how long this will be exactly, but I'm working on chapter three as you read this, so here's hoping it goes up soon!
> 
> Trigger Warnings for Drug Abuse

He falls back into old habits, after her confession in the lift.

He hadn’t touched the stuff since the mid 1970’s. Yet here he is again. And he knows he shouldn’t. But what harm would it really do to him, anyway? He should’ve _died_ last time. And yet, here he is still. So, to be blunt, _fuck it._

So that’s how he finds himself, once again, in a disheveled house, tourniquet wrapped tightly around his arm, wincing as he pierces his vein with the needle, gasping as he presses down on the plunger. He tells himself it’s only one time. _Just this once._

It’s not.

He loses track of…everything. His keys, time, his job, his…entire sense of self.  The only thing he cares about is another hit. He feels like he might die, if he doesn’t get one. He’s not shaved. He forgets the last time he showered. He paces the flat endlessly, for hours on end, scratches his arms until they bleed. The only thing he knows is that he needs is more. More, more, _more_.

He hasn’t seen Morgana in months, now. Probably because he only leaves his flat now in the dead of night, to go back to that den, to shoot up and lay on a ratty mattress and not return for days at a time.

So he wonders why she’s standing above him now, her face screwed up in disgust and…something else.

He lets her lead him home.

“You should probably know that you were evicted.”

“Oh.”

“I managed to pack your things up. I don’t know what you wanted to keep and what you didn’t.”

“Okay.”

He’s incredibly itchy all over.

“You’re pathetic.” She spits suddenly.

“Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

They don’t say anything about him staying with her, in the guest room of her flat. And the only reason he stays is because of the stash he hides under the bed, that, again, neither of them mention, but both of them know about.

She doesn’t put her foot down until he’s run out, and she catches him trying to sneak out in the middle of the night.

“This is ridiculous.” she’s saying, standing in front of the door, blocking his path. “What _happened_ to you? You’re supposed to be this…all powerful warlock. The Legendary Emrys. Now you’re this…pathetic junkie.” if she sounds sad, Merlin doesn’t comment on it. All he says is,

“Move.”

“No.”

He could attack her. Use his magic to move her out of the way.

He doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

The withdrawals are nightmarish. He trembles, sweating and cold, he can’t keep anything down. He doesn’t recall having this deep of an _ache_ last time. Of course, that was over forty years ago.

Morgana’s taken to locking the front door when she leaves, enchanting it so it won’t open. Merlin knows he could easily open it. But he can’t summon the energy. Or he doesn’t want to. One way or the other, he stays. He spends most of his time trying not to vomit, staring out the window, and pointedly _not_ thinking of why he doesn’t just leave, doesn’t seek out another hit.

She almost looks…sad. When he looks in her direction, as if looking at her, but his gaze is empty, staring past her at nothing. And she wordlessly cleans up piles of sick, when he hasn’t quite made it to the waste bin or the toilet. And she still says nothing when he’s wracked with violent shivers, only wrapping another blanket around his shoulders.

“Why?” he croaks one day. He’s drenched with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, yet he still can’t get warm.

“Pardon?”

“Why are you doing this? You of all people…” he shuts his eyes against an onslaught of dizziness. “I deserve no kindness, from you especially. I got myself into this mess.”

Neither of them are certain if he only means the drugs.

“And without me, you’d never get yourself out of it.”

She’s not wrong.

 

* * *

 

She comes home in the midst of one of his panic attacks. He doesn’t even really know what happened. One minute he was (relatively) fine, and the next, Morgana’s pulling him to his feet, telling him to breathe, shushing him, and…holding him?

“No, don’t touch me—,”

“Merlin. Hush.”

He can’t quite understand why she looks ready to cry.

 

* * *

 

“I think you need professional help.”

He doesn’t expect that to be a bombshell.

“I…”

“Look, it’s…Merlin, believe it or not I don’t want to keep you locked in my flat.” he doesn’t dwell on the fact that she looks and sounds defeated.

“I could leave if I wanted to.”

“And yet, you’re miserable.”

Again, she’s got a point.

“And why should you care?” it comes out sounding bitter, angry. She looks as if he slapped her in the face.

“Silly me. Of course I don’t.”

They’re not convinced.

He goes anyway.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t do rehab last time, or any of the times before that, he knows that much. He merely clawed his way out of that hole and got himself clean. It wasn’t easy, but he did it.

So this is…almost patronizing. Talking in groups about how he feels and doing group activities and it all just seems so…he’s not sure how he feels about it. Having to make up a life story because, _I’m a 900 something year old warlock and I’m waiting for King Arthur to return, and I relapsed because the woman I loved, yet screwed over completely, came back from the dead_ , probably won’t go over well.

So he doesn’t share much. Progress is slow going.

 

* * *

 

He’d chosen a three month program. When he’s reminded that if he allows himself to make progress, he can in fact have visitors, he decides it’s best to behave himself. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that the thought of visits from Morgana are the only thing keeping him going.

And she does visit him. She tells him he looks better. Not _good_ , but better. He tells her he feels better, Still, not _good_ , but better.

“Should we really be doing this?” it’s sudden, unexpected. And he hates that her voice is so soft.

“Doing what?”

“Visitations.” she looks him in the eye, shrugs at him. “You relapsed because I showed up.”

“I relapsed because I’m a junkie.” he corrects. “And I never…I never actually got help.” he sighs, pushes the heels of his palms into his hands. “Look, it started with the opium dens, and the laudanum, right? After Kilgharrah eventually died, in…the nineteenth century I believe. Fuck’s sake, you could go to a chemist and buy cocaine.” he pauses for a second, gathers his thoughts. “From the early eighteen hundreds to now, so over two hundred years of my life, I’ve relapsed, I’ve gotten clean, I’ve relapsed again, I’ve been addicted to several different substances. So, no, I didn’t start doing heroin again because you showed up, I started doing heroin because I’m a drug addict.” She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he continues. “So…I guess I’ve always looked for a reason to shoot up again, blamed the most convenient person or thing, so I wouldn’t blame myself. Does that make sense?”

“I think…you should say that in group. Not the being a junkie for two hundred years of course.”

He surprises them both with a chuckle.

 

* * *

  
After three months, he’s free to go, and he has a good feeling he won’t fall back into deadly habits.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She not only sees the future, but she's haunted by her past.

They still live in the same flat, after that. They go back to watching crap films on the sofa. They ease into normal conversation. It all feels…oddly domestic.

Amd them the night terrors start again.

He’d almost forgotten about her dreams. Almost, but not completely. And he’d been too drugged up, to wrapped up in his withdrawals to notice. Gods.

It’s just a while after he gets back, that he’s awoken by the sound of a terrified scream and glass shattering. He bolts out of bed, immediately sprints to Morgana’s room, his first thought that she’s being attacked. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that’s silly, Morgana can take care of herself, obviously. But even so, he just finds that she’s still asleep, however her arms are up, shielding herself from an unseen attacker.

“Morgana.” he calls softly. She continues to toss and turn, and every time her eyelids flutter Merlin can see gold irises. He knows she’s powerful, if she doesn’t wake soon she could, at best, break something else. He decides, probably against his better judgement, to shake her shoulders. “Morgana!”

“No!”

For a girl so petite, she’s quite strong. Merlin stumbles a bit as she pushes him away.

“Morgana, wake up!” without knowing what else to do, he places a hand on her forehead, and he feels, not a burst, but a whisper of magic thrum through him. Morgana almost immediately settles.

“Merlin?” she slurs, her eyes fluttering open to look up at him.

“It’s me.”

Why is that soothing?

“I…it was horrible, Merlin.” she whispers.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“…not really.”

“Okay. Can I get you anything? Tea, maybe?”

“…do we still have ice cream?”

The warmth in his smile is something both of them forgot.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

 

* * *

 

 

It becomes a regular thing to them. At absolute minimum, once a week.

They run out of ice cream quite quickly. Electing to just eat it from the tub, eventually. Saves time. Even so, every other night (ice cream or no) Merlin finds himself jumping out of bed, running to Morgana’s room, trying to wake her up. After one particularly nasty dream, he’s sporting a black eye for at least a week. Not that he minds.

And then…well, then she tells him what they’re all about.

What those men did to her. It’s not just the future she sees, but her past that haunts her. And Sarrum and his men…it makes his blood boil. How anyone could do that to _any_ woman, he’d never understand, never _did_ understand. He supposes he was ahead of his time, but women deserve…just as much respect as men do, if not more, if he’s being perfectly honest with himself. And a woman like Morgana, she commands respect with her very being. He wishes Sarrum wasn’t dead for the very fact that he’d like to kill the bastard himself. And everyone who dared touch Morgana in such a vile…

“Merlin?”

He shakes himself out of it.

“Yeah?”

“Could you, erm…could you maybe go back to your room?”

“Oh, right. See you in the morning.”

“See you.”

He blocks out the sound of her crying, that night. But he aches to hold her, to make it all go away.

 

* * *

 

 

She pushes him away the night she dreams of the poisoned water. And he doesn’t blame her in the slightest. And again, when she dreams of the strike from Excalibur.

Their conversation in the morning is tense and awkward.

 

* * *

 

 

She surprises him one night. He’s taken to making sure she falls back asleep, and whispering a spell that he hopes will give her a pleasant sleep before he takes his leave. But she grabs his arms as he stands, blinks up at him, although her eyes are bleary.

“Stay.”

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

Neither of them talk about the fact that they slowly start sleeping in the same bed night by night. Or the fact that Morgana trusts him to sleep in the same bed as her and not try anything. Nor about the fact that eventually, she just expects him to follow her to bed, with little phrases like,

“Coming to bed?” that are quickly followed up with,

“Yeah, be right there, love.”

_Love!_

And yet, it seems completely normal to them both.

 

* * *

 

 

The night she bodily kicks him out of bed, they elect to find something to help with the nightmares. Her healing bracelet is long gone, and without it, well. She needs something akin to it, they know that much.

They tirelessly look through books that Morgana was able to save from his flat. Merlin takes to scouring the internet as well, a rather useful tool, he’s found. At least, when the source is credible. He’d already known of dream catchers, and of certain crystals. But he wants to make sure they _work_. He doesn’t want Morgana to suffer more than she already has. Perhaps if there’s a spell…

He works on it when she goes to work. Weaves the string with crystals he’d kept hidden away. By the time she comes home, he’s passed out face-down in a spell book, the half-woven dreamcatcher next to him on the table.

“Merlin.” she shakes his shoulder to rouse him.

“Mm?”

“I got takeaway.”

“I _can_ cook you know.”

“I know.”

They eat in front of the telly, watching whatever crap show is on. It’s nice.

 

* * *

 

 

He laughs triumphantly when he finishes his little project, nearly startling the wits out of his flatmate. Friend? Something. Whatever she is.

“Here you go.” he practically gleams with pride when he hands the object over. The crystals gleam in the low light of the living room, clink together softly, the soft white string has been intricately woven into a pentacle in the center.

“It’s beautiful.” Morgana breathes.

“I just hope it works.”

 

* * *

 

 

She sleeps peacefully for the first time since she lost her healing bracelet.

But for some reason, Merlin doesn’t go back to the guest room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be angsty, but then it just wasnt. [ @ImmortalMagic](https://twitter.com/ImmortalMagic) this one's for you, 'Gana :*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They simply...are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep wanting angst and giving myself fluff.

To make things even more confusing for the pair, Merlin kisses her on the cheek before he leaves to search for a new job, every morning. _The_ flat becomes _their_ flat. Morgana’s bedroom becomes _their_ bedroom. The guest room becomes _their_ workroom. When Merlin meets one of Morgana’s colleagues, she tells Morgana that her boyfriend is very handsome. And they don’t even bother to correct her, although Merlin may have choked on his water a bit.

They go to the cinema together. They cook together. They do almost…everything together. They avoid scary words like, ‘boyfriend’, or ‘girlfriend’, or ‘lover’. They’re not quite ready for that, even if Merlin lounges on the sofa with his head on her lap while they watch Netflix, or Morgana turns over in the middle of the night to snuggle up against him. Even if they occasionally hold hands in public (for a sense of security, that’s all!), or if their hugs are lingering, or they call each other on their lunch breaks. It’s too soon, they think.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not a tear filled confession, outside in the rain. It’s not a soft whisper in the middle of the night, or a joyous proclamation that leads to laughter and kissing and dancing around the flat, it’s,

“Shit, my lunch break is almost over. See you at home, love you.”

And they don’t think anything of it. Because it just…is. There were no crazy declarations, no passionate snogging sessions on the sofa, no crazy hot sex or gentle lovemaking. It wasn’t a tense buildup, it didn’t expose itself with a bang, or even a whisper. It was just there, one day.

But perhaps it never left.

 

* * *

 

 

They have no desire to make anything ‘official’. There’s no awkward “what are we?” conversation. They simply Are. Merlin and Morgana, that’s all they are. And while they exchange chaste kisses, before they leave and after they come home, and while they do sleep in the same bed, talk about their day together, have lazy Sunday lie-ins together, they don’t label it. They’re just…Merlin and Morgana.

Even if they introduce each other to their friends and colleagues as Boyfriend/Girlfriend, there’s no real need to flaunt that. They love each other. That’s all there is to it.

 

* * *

 

 

Neither of them have a desire for…coupling. For Merlin, it’s nothing special. After nine hundred years, and more partners than he can remember, he’s no real need for it. And for Morgana, well…if she has a negative view on sex, nobody would blame her.

However, they start this thing where they’ll bathe together, or curl up in bed with their clothes off. Neither of them are sure who starts it, but they find it…comforting. Safe. The shower thing starts because their water bill got ridiculous all of a sudden, but laying together, skin on skin contact, without it having to be sexual, is…it’s nice. They probably make a funny sight, pale skin and long legs, similar hair color, it’s probably hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re at a pub, when it, again, comes to a head. It’s a casual thing, a meetup with a couple of mutual friends. Merlin is careful to just order a ginger ale and snack on crisps, and enjoy the light conversation. When Morgana suddenly tenses next to him, her eyes looking past him into the small crowd of giggling, probably very drunk, women, he follows her gaze but can’t seem to find the source of her discomfort. So he wraps an arm around her shoulder, as physical contact nearly never fails to calm her down when she’s tense and annoyed. She seems to relax, even nuzzling into his side with a content grin, something not often seen in public.

“Alright love?” he whispers.

“Mmhm.”

He’s not convinced, but he decides it best to leave it be for now, and goes back to listening to Colin’s ridiculous story about ghosts, or something like that.

It’s when he goes outside to smoke (the one habit he _can’t_ seem to kick), that he suddenly understands. He’s just trying to poison his lungs in peace, when there’s quite suddenly a female figure pressed up against him.

“Can I help you…?” he asks hesitantly, holding his arm up so the smoke from his cigarette doesn’t sting her eyes, and trying to avoid all contact where possible. It’s not that she’s not pretty, under most circumstances he’d actually find her quite attractive; warm, tanned skin, dark brown eyes, long, dark hair. But, she’s not Morgana.

“My friends and I were looking at you.” she doesn’t seem quite drunk. Maybe tipsy, but she’s certainly _acting_ like she’s three sheets to the wind. It isn’t at all attractive. “You’re very handsome, you know?”

“Er, thanks.” he gently pushes her away. “But uh, I’m spoken for.” she sticks her ruby red lips out in a pout, presses herself against him once again, despite his protests, despite him pushing her away. He’s quite uncomfortable with the entire situation.

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“Er…”

“What don’t I have to know?”

He’s never been quite so relieved to hear Morgana’s voice before.

“Can you get off my boyfriend, please?”

“She did ask nicely.”

“I just wanted to bum a smoke.”

Right.

“Oh really? Cause it looks to me like you’re all over him. He’s not interested.”

Oh, he doesn’t like where this is going.

“How about you let him speak for himself?” the random woman has her hands on her hips, a defiant glare.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me!”

“Morgana, love-,”

Their argument is gaining attention of passersby.

It’s when the other woman goes for a physical attack that Morgana acts, her eyes flashing gold as she trips her without touching her. Merlin has to stifle a laugh.

By the time Merlin’s finishing his cigarette and wrapping an arm around Morgana’s waist to lead her back inside, the woman is screeching about glowing eyes and magic, and Merlin’s grinning.

“I bloody love you.”

Morgana beams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me and [ @ImmortalMagic ](https://twitter.com/ImmortalMagic) for more shenanigans! You can find me on twitter as well: [ @agrimwarlock ](https://twitter.com/agrimwarlock)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana dreams of a reunion.

She shakes him awake in the middle of the night, at one point. He bolts up, thinking there’s an intruder or she’s had another night terror. But she’s lacking that panicked look in her eye, only something like…melancholy. She offers him a bittersweet smile, one that’s half self deprecating and half genuine.

“I had a vision.”

His sleep addled mind struggles to catch up. This one couldn’t wait until morning?

“What happened?” he yawns.

“Merlin.”

“Hm?”

“Arthur’s coming back.”

 

* * *

 

He paces the flat endlessly, chewing on his thumbnail, caught between completely ecstatic, and crushed with anxiety. On one hand, he’s been waiting waiting _centuries_ for this. On the other, well, Merlin had that much time to forgive Morgana, and all the things she’d done, and, somehow, forgive himself for what he’d done to her. He can’t say the same for Arthur.

There was no telling the exact _day_ Arthur would come back. So Morgana, much to Merlin’s confusion, begins turning their work room _back_ into the spare room. When he asks her about it, she merely requests he build a bookshelf for their room as she pinterests space saving hacks. He jokes that he can do her one better and build a loft bed.

She doesn’t say anything.

 

* * *

 

He does actually build a loft bed. He’s quite proud of it, too. Complete with dresser drawers on one side, a bookshelf on the other, steps instead of a ladder, and plenty of desk space underneath. Their bedroom/workroom is quite lovely. It’s enough to distract him from the fact, that _holy shit Arthur is coming back_.

He still can’t get a word about it out of Morgana. At the back of his mind, he supposes she gave him the project to ward off any more questions about it.

Fair enough.

 

* * *

 

Both of them can feel it when the day comes. They swear they can, down to their very bones. Morgana watches as Merlin flutters about the flat, packing clothes and getting things together, a ball of nervous energy. She doesn’t know how she feels. Much like Merlin, she finds herself almost excited, but the doubt and fear she feels at seeing her brother again…

The drive to the lake is silent.

 

* * *

 

They were sure that he’d already be there, waiting. The drive was a long one, after all. But as it is, the lake is silent, the water still, and there’s no sign of any tracks or movement coming from the water. The Lake of Avalon is protected, by Merlin himself. He would know if Arthur were to come back.

So they wait. They sit by the shore…and they wait. Now seems like a perfect time.

“Why did you want to come with?”

Morgana shrugs at him.

“Better than just taking him back to my flat for him to find out that I’m alive.”

“Right…”

The pause is long, and awkward.

“Are you okay…?” it’s not the first time he’s asked it, but it’s definitely the most tentative.

“I’m…not sure how I feel.” she whispers. “I…it’s part guilt, part anger, part…” she trails off, but Merlin thinks he understands.

“I get that.”

The sit in silence for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

Sometime between three and four in the morning, they each grab one of Arthur’s flailing arms and pull him out of the water.

To say it’s tense is the understatement of all time.

There’s shouting, a sword is brandished. Merlin has to step in before it gets too ugly.

It could’ve gone better.

 

* * *

 

It’s a slow process. Merlin loses track of the days that he has to keep the siblings from going at each other’s throats, and, again, fair enough. All the pain and regret and anger…

Arthur stays locked in his room. Morgana throws herself into research. Merlin half heartedly attempts to get them familiar again, calling them to dinner, or asking them both to watch some random film with him.

It doesn’t work very well.

 

* * *

 

He finally loses his temper one day. It’s not horrible, really. But he’s really had—

_"Enough!”_

They’re both rather dumbstruck, staring at him, mouths hanging open almost comically.

“Look, I can completely see where both of you are coming from, yeah? Trust me, I know this. I had…hundreds of years to get over my animosity, and you didn’t. I _get that_. I _get_ that it’s a process. A very, very long process. But could you both at least _try_? I don’t mean to pull this on you, not now, but if either of you ever cared for me, even once, you’d try.”

And true to their word, they do. It’s still tense and awkward, but every time one of them gets a laugh out of the other, or a smile, Merlin counts it as a small victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda sorta somewhat angst. Next chapter is the last one. Hold onto your seats, lads.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His destiny is finally fulfilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry in advance for this...

As it turns out, having a Seer on their side is quite useful. And having Merlin on Morgana’s side, to help her harness her skills makes it all the better. Aided with the fact that Morgana and Arthur are slowly but surely warming up to each other, it seems that everything seems to be going their way. It’s…odd, at first, giving Arthur a social media platform, and most think that “KingArthurRisen2019” is just a joke, maybe an old nickname that he turned into his twitter and youtube personality, that maybe Morgana and Merlin are pseudonyms to fit in, when they’re seen in vlogs or mentioned in tweets.

They all have a, rather sardonic, laugh at that.

 

* * *

 

Through the years, the knights filter in. They want to be surprised, but…they’re not. Leon, and Elyan, and Mordred, and Gwaine, Percival, Lancelot, all of them.

Unlike Arthur and Morgana he hadn’t just…come back one day. It’s the same with all of them, really. They’d essentially been born again, been given different names. But somehow (Merlin) their memories came flooding back at once. And it’s a good thing nobody carries weapons so much anymore, or Merlin would’ve had a much harder time stepping in to talk them down when they see Morgana.

Though he did have to pry Gwaine’s hands from her neck, at one point…

Arthur nearly breaks down in tears when Gwen comes round. No, scratch that, he does. Ugly sobbing, actually.

Even Morgause, surprisingly, rises once again, much like Arthur and Morgana did. They suppose it’s her tether to Morgana that does it. There’s no telling how strong an emotional bond must be. Which…really says something, about the ties that bind Merlin and Morgana together.

 

* * *

 

Through the years, they keep the fact that they were in fact the real heroes of Camelot a secret. Morgana, Official Seer and Publicist, says it’d probably discredit what they’re trying to do. Merlin adamantly agrees.

They wind up starting a nonprofit, for all those seeking the help they need. Arthur spreads his message of equality throughout England. Throughout the world, even. Merlin can’t remember such a time of peace since…well, since before Arthur died.

Several attempts are made on Arthur’s life, but now with Morgause, Morgana, and Mordred on _his side_ , they’re all in vain.

And they can all feel the magic slowly return. They feel it thrum through their veins, feel it in the air around them. For the first time in centuries, Merlin is never seen without a smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

It’s surprising to them all, when Merlin and Morgana eventually have a son. Yeah, they’d been married for quite a while at that point, but neither seemed interested in children.

(Merlin had tried that at one point. Unfortunately, that was when the Black Plague swept its way through Europe.)

Yet, little Alastair is born with bright blue-green eyes and inky black hair. Gwaine jokes that a name meaning “Defender of Mankind” is a bit on the nose, for which Morgana fondly smacks him and Merlin rolls his eyes.

“He’s going to be very powerful.” Morgause coos over her nephew. “Born of Emrys and Morgana, a Dragonlord and a Seer.”

“We don’t know if he’ll have either of our abilities.” Morgana tuts.

“We shall see.”

 

* * *

 

Morgana’s visions are few and far between, but…

“I saw it, I swear. He’s going to die.”

“Morgana, your visions are subject to change.”

“I know, but…”

“He’ll be alright, Morgana. He always is.”

“I…yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Alastair grows up without fear of who he is, something for which Morgana and Merlin find themselves slightly envious, but, they’re happy for their son all the same. Sure the fires he sets when he’s a toddler are a pain to put out, but he’ll learn, in time, to control it.

They introduce him to Aithusa when he’s around seven or eight. And although the white dragon is still wary of Merlin, she takes to Alastair right away. Not surprising, knowing that her bond with Morgana was as solid as steel.

“Dad?”

“Yeah bub?”

“When will I know if I’m a Dragonlord?”

Merlin smiles indulgently, and kneels down to his level.

“You won’t know, until you face your first dragon.” It’s what his father had told him, when he’d asked.

He leaves out the part where a Dragonlord can only be passed down from father to son, and only inherit their powers when their father before them passes away. Alastair grins brightly, and romps about the house playing Dragonlord while his parents watch on with fondness.

 

* * *

 

He knows when it’s his time. He had fulfilled his destiny, after nearly one thousand years. Finally, _finally_ , he feels at rest. His very soul is content.

He just didn’t expect it to _hurt_ so much. He’s not even entirely sure what happened. He was…doing something? He can’t quite remember what, but he remembers Morgana’s smile melting into a look of horror right before he hit the ground. What happened? _What happened?_

Morgana is kneeling over him, and he has a brief flash of memory. The drug den, all those years ago. Oh…oh no. He hadn’t relapsed again had he? But, no…that doesn’t make sense. Why would she be crying? She’d been so terribly disgusted and annoyed last time.

She’s pressing her hands into his chest, and _oh_ that doesn’t feel good at all! He wishes she’d stop.

“Dad? Dad!”

“Don’t shake him, Al, give him some air.” when did Arthur get here? Why does his voice sound so shaky? “Don’t worry, Merlin, there’s an ambulance on the way.” Ambulance? Why?

He chances a look down at his chest. Morgana’s hands, usually so pale and pretty, are soaked with blood. Oh, is that his? It starts coming together, piece by piece.

Oh. He’d been shot. Why had someone shot him? That’s incredibly rude, isn’t it?

“I’m going to die.” he rasps.

“No you’re not.” Morgana tells him firmly.

He’s going to die.

“Al- _fuck_.” he coughs, and he can taste the blood in his mouth. “Alastair.”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Be good to your mum, okay?”

“Merlin…”

“Shh, love, it’s alright.” His vision is becoming quite blurry. “Arthur, you…you were my best mate, you know that? And also an incredibly annoying prat sometimes, but, still my best mate.” he gets a watery laugh from someone, presumably the King Prat himself.

“Merlin, stop talking like you’re about to die.” oh, but he really hates the way Morgana sounds right now. He never liked to see her cry, either.

“Morgana, love.” breathing is getting rather hard, now. “You, well…” laughing hurts. He does it anyway. “You are the…love of my life, as corny as it sounds. Hey, don’t cry. Please? The Dragonlord bloodline carries on, hey? Aithusa will never be alone. In fact she’s got quite a fine lad by her side, yeah?”

It’s going to be fine. He fulfilled his destiny.

He can finally rest.

 

* * *

 

They all mourn his loss. A friend, a father. One of the best men they ever knew.

Mordred plans a druid ceremony. He says it seems fitting that Lord Emrys have a proper burial, the burial of his people.

Morgana’s struck with such a…strange feeling. She’s heartbroken, at his loss, but, at the same time, so incredibly happy that his soul can finally rest. Everything he ever was, is passed down to Alastair, down to his very mannerisms.

(He _sprints_ from the funeral, calling for Aithusa in that ancient and beautiful tongue, the words coming to him naturally.)

He’s going to be just as powerful as his father. Perhaps live just as long, if not longer.

So while Morgana mourns the loss of her love, she’s almost at peace, knowing that he finally is too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY ILY DON'T HATE ME


End file.
